


Five People Who Didn't Notice That Shmi Skywalker Was Married

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blatant Ignoring Of Cliegg Lars, Brief Discussions of Sterilization, Dehumanizing Language, Everyone's Oblivious, F/F, POV Outsider, Slavery, pregnancy mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: And one who did.





	Five People Who Didn't Notice That Shmi Skywalker Was Married

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



> AceQueenKing, I hope you like this! You were the one who first opened my eyes to the idea of Shmi/OFC, and it hooked me immediately. I tried to work in some of your preferences for narrative structure and the like, I hope it turned out to your liking!!
> 
> Writing alien perspectives is so much fun? I had A Time trying to pick out what idiosyncrasies aliens might find weird about humans, I hope I pulled it off relatively well :D Also, this is _blatant_ Cliegg Lars erasure, because it rubs me wrong in canon but I couldn't do that to my girls. Oops, sorry Cliegg.
> 
> For anyone concerned, the dehumanizing language, pregnancy mention, and discussion of sterilization all occur in the first two sections, as a result of the narrators. If you have other worries or questions about content, please feel free to drop a comment or message me on tumblr! (I'll add my url once the anonymous period for the exchange is over)

1\. Gardulla the Hutt

Slaves, generally, were not Gardulla’s priority. She found them to be irritating and often in the way, if undeniably useful at times. That is why she left their handling to her majordomo, a being she also found to be irritating, though, regrettably, even more necessary than slaves.

Still. Slave offspring was always news that reached Gardulla—particularly when the bearer claimed there wasn’t another being involved.

Such a thing wasn’t unusual for Hutts, of course—it was how her eldest was created—but, as far as Gardulla was aware, most sentient species required _two._ And since she didn’t allow her slaves to procreate with one another, this one was simply lying to protect the sire.

Gardulla motioned for her guards to bring the slave in and sneered at what she saw.

Humans, though clever, were the worst of her stock, in part due to that same intellect. They were also stubborn, annoyingly independent, and would breed like womp rats if allowed the opportunity.

“What slave dares to oppose my rules?” she demanded, waving a fist to keep the protocol droid stationed at her left silent. If the slave didn’t understand her language, it would be her death.

Another Hutt might have played the role of the benevolent, helpful overlord. Gardulla was past the need for such tactics. In view of her full court, she said again, “Speak, slave.”

The slave did not cower, as many others would. She stood straight in the humanoid fashion, with only the forward curve of her shoulders to betray her fear. Well—if one was not a Hutt. Gardulla could smell her stench from across the chamber.

“Honorable Gardulla the Elder,” the slave said in passable Huttese, “my name is Shmi, Walker-of-the-Skies. I wish to plead for the life of my unborn child.”

But not for her own. Curious. Curiouser still, that a slave would lay claim to a surname that declared freedom.

Gardulla glanced at the serving slave that was often positioned by her throne. She was also human, and though her hands remained steady on her pitcher, her eyes were unusually wide for her species. They didn’t stray once from the first slave, Shmi. Gardulla looked back—yes, that was right. Humans stored their offspring within the abdomen itself prior to birth. What a messy, crude system.

“You know the rules,” Gardulla repeated. “Unauthorized procreation is a punishable offense.”

Punishable by sterilization, not death, because even human slaves became expensive to replace once they gained enough skills. This one was still young, but undoubtedly would it would be costly to order her death.

Shmi didn’t flinch. The serving woman made a sound and dropped her pitcher, its contents spraying the length of Gardulla’s tail.

“Honorable Gardulla,” said the serving slave, her Huttese broken and too tight. Gardulla looked at her, almost amused by the slave’s daring. “ _Please_ reconsider, I beg of you.”

“No—” Shmi said, stepping forward, arm outstretched toward the other slave.

“You _must_ —”

Gardulla growled and guards moved as one to apprehend the slave. She _must_ do nothing.

“Wait!” Shmi yelled. Her volume drew the attention of the court and, once Gardulla’s eyes were fixed on her, she knelt. From her place on the ground she appeared older than Gardulla initially thought. It was so difficult to tell with humans though. “The father—it was a moisture farmer, from the last time I went on a supply run. I met him in a cantina and thought him handsome, but I don’t recall his name.”

The serving slave made a pitiful noise as a Nikto guard grabbed her.

Gardulla held up her fist so they would stop. She didn’t want to listen to the human struggle as she thought.

Shmi was probably still lying, but skilled middle aged slaves were particularly expensive to replace: still young enough to reproduce, but old enough that their knowledge was more valuable than their labor alone. Gardulla didn’t know what this one did for the household, and didn’t care, but she would have to be very skilled to be allowed out of the compound. Any offspring might be equally as skilled, given time, and Gardulla was patient enough to play the long game.

“Majordomo,” Gardulla said. He stepped forward from his place at her right. “The slave will be allowed to keep her offspring, so long as it proves to be useful.”

Her domo motioned with his hand and the slave was lifted to her feet and led away.

“As for this one,” Gardulla said, gesturing to the careless serving woman, “sell her.”

Shmi glanced over her shoulder and what little color in her skin seemed to drain away. She mouthed something, eyes fixed to one side of Gardulla, but she was smart enough not to fight her escort.

Gardulla waved them all away. Humans were ridiculously sentimental; perhaps these two knew one another. But it was no matter—they were nearly as resilient as those Tusken creatures, and this one would forget soon enough.

She turned her attention to the next matter at hand, and forgot all about the slave and her offspring. Right until the moment she lost them in a sabacc game against a junk dealer.

  

2\. Watto

Watto fluttered ahead of her new slaves, showing the most efficient way from his shop to the slave quarters of Mos Espa. He made sure to keep at a height where the adult could see him even through the afternoon crowd.

“I expect you at the shop by suns’ rise,” he told them, again. Just because the older one understood Huttese didn’t mean she was  _smart_. And her little whelp was so young as to practically be useless; who knew if he understood _any_ language yet.

He stopped outside the southern gate and said, “You are responsible for finding someplace to stay in here. Do not complain to me about what you find, eh?”

The woman nodded and shifted her the child so it rested against her other hip. Watto stared at them both for a moment. For good measure, he added, “And _don’t_ try to escape, that slug already transferred control of your trackers to—”

“Shmi?” someone nearby said.

Watto’s wings spun him in mid-air, and he saw another human slave, this one darker and shorter than his.

“Zhali,” his slave said as she clutched her child closer. Watto watched them; he didn’t want his new help damaged so soon, if this turned out to be an unfriendly meeting. “You’re alive? You’re really _here_?”

The other slave leapt forward, her arms outstretched. Watto prepared himself to _remove_ her from the situation.

They were involved in the practice humans referred to as hugging, the child folded between them. It looked uncomfortable, with how tight Zhali clung to Shmi.

One of them made a harsh choking sound, which Watto took as his cue to leave. So long as they weren’t tearing each other apart, he didn’t care what they did, and human emotionalism always left him needing a sand bath.

  

3\. Qui-Gon Jinn

The young boy, Anakin, led their group to his small home, obviously in the slave quarters of the city. Qui-Gon was glad Obi-Wan had remained on the ship; he always reacted adversely to missions that involved slavery. With the trials fast approaching, his padawan would need to stay centered and focused.

“I’m home!” Anakin called, shoving the door open. “And I brought friends!”

Qui-Gon followed after him, ducking his head to clear the low door frame, and then opened his mouth to apologize for intruding unexpectedly on a stranger. Perhaps Anakin had the wrong house—they all looked similar—as there was only a woman with skin similar in color to Mace Windu’s. Certainly, she and Anakin, with his pale skin and blond hair, weren’t related.

But then her face broke into a large smile and she scooped Anakin off the ground. She held him in a hug easily, despite her small stature, and didn’t place him down immediately.

“Ani,” she said in accented Basic. “Who is this? Does your mother know you’ve picked up strays again?”

Padmé bristled at being called a stray, but didn’t interrupt as Anakin launched into the story of how he met Qui-Gon and the others. The woman smiled softly, still carrying the boy as she listened. Qui-Gon folded his hands into his sleeves and waited.

“Well,” she said when Anakin was done. “That _is_ quite the adventure. I suppose they can stay the night, but if Shmi says otherwise we’ll listen to her, okay?”

The woman, who introduced herself as Zhali, wasn’t related to Anakin after all, Qui-Gon decided. She was a family friend or a relative, given her deferral to Anakin’s mother’s judgement. He relaxed slightly, staying in the kitchen as Anakin gave Padmé and Jar Jar a tour, but kept his hands in the sleeves of his robe. Zhali gave him a polite smile as well, but otherwise went about her duties.

When Shmi arrived, they clasped hands and kissed one another on the cheek as Zhali explained the unexpected guests. Qui-Gon noticed how pinched Shmi’s expression became when she heard the total for dinner that night. Perhaps he should volunteer some money to cover their costs, if they could spare the funds.

(“Who was his father?”

Shmi looked back toward the house, where they could see Zhali and Ani, laughing at Jar Jar.

“There was no father.”)

  

4\. Padmé Amidala

The morning of the race, Padmé stayed close to Shmi and Zhali. She was curious about the races and trusted their hosts to lead her through the city, but she also needed time away from Master Jinn. The man was frustrating even when he was in agreement with her.

They were not in agreement on this.

So Padmé trailed behind the two women, keeping her eyes on Zhali’s hand where it rested against Shmi’s lower back. She noticed that, despite the rough weave of her own clothes and the simple style of her hair, Padmé was still noticeably better off than the other women. It left a bitter taste at the back of her throat to know there was nothing she could do about their situation.

Behind them, Ani and his friend Kitster were herding Master Jinn and Jar Jar. They would make for an unusual group on Naboo, but here on Tatooine the most unusual part was seeing six humans and only one other species.

They saw Ani set in his pod before rising into the stands. Shmi and Zhali held a viewscreen between them, while Master Jinn held another. Padmé moved closer to Shmi’s side and watched with them as Ani sped out of view.

With each hairpin turn, each new and dangerous development, Padmé felt her breath catch in her chest. It was at least equally as dangerous as some of the things her handmaidens were trained to do, but there laid the difference: her handmaidens, and particularly Sabé, had over a _year_ of training. They knew what was expected of them. They were prepared.

Ani was just a nine-year-old boy who had never finished a race before.

She couldn’t bring herself to watch.

Padmé turned her eyes from the viewscreen, choosing instead to focus on Shmi and Zhali’s profiles. They could have been carved from the sandstone of the planet. Zhali held Shmi’s left hand in her right, and they each gripped one side the screen with their free hand. Zhali’s jaw was clenched and Shmi pursed her lips at something she saw on the screen, but neither of them ever looked away.

It was the type of courage Padmé would need to face the Senate, and so she watched them draw strength from one another as they witnessed Ani’s race. They had one another. She had her handmaidens. The parallel stuck her as untrue, but she wasn't sure which part rang false, so she discarded it.

The crowd erupted into cheers and boos in equal measures as Shmi gasped.

Padmé glanced at the viewscreen, and then up, just in time to see Ani cross the finish line.

“He did it,” Zhali said. She turned to Shmi, eyes glimmering. Shmi swept her into a bone-crushing hug and they laughed together.

“He did,” Master Jinn said, his tone self-satisfied as though he had any influence on Ani’s success. Padmé turned to him, her annoyance returning in full force.

(Shmi pressed her lips to Zhali's. She was laughing or crying or both. Zhali held Shmi's face gently between her palms.

"He did it," Zhali said, smile wide and eyes bright.

"He did," Shmi agreed. She leaned in for another kiss. "That's because he has his Ama's stubbornness."

Zhali laughed away the statement and pressed their foreheads together, tears hot on her cheeks. A waste of water, but one they could afford, today of all days.

Behind them, Padmé missed the moment, occupied as she was with glaring at Master Jinn. Qui-Gon, too, missed their tenderness because he was staring off toward the pods, attempting to look dignified and above reproach from a teenage girl. Jar Jar might have noticed, but as he was in the process of turning around he tripped on his own feet and slammed his elbow into the lift controls. The pod jolted and began shuddering its way toward the ground. Shmi and Zhali exchanged a final kiss. The next time someone looked at them, they were simply leaning on one another, relieved that Ani had survived.)

  

5\. Obi-Wan Kenobi

“And then Mom told me, ‘Ani, that’s why we _don’t_ imitate krayt calls!’” Anakin finished, exuberant. He grew quiet, both in the Force and in volume, for a moment, and then added, “Later, Ama told me the only reason I was caught was ‘cause I wasn’t good _enough_ at it yet.”

Seated on their apartment’s couch, Obi-Wan sighed and set aside his datapad. This wasn’t the first story he had heard about Anakin’s enigmatic mother in the months since he had finally opened up to Obi-Wan. It wasn’t even the first story that presented contradictory information about his mother, which, in Obi-Wan’s mind, was even worse than Anakin’s obvious reluctance to give up his attachment. As far as Obi-Wan was aware, it wasn’t unusual for children to switch between multiple names for their parent, but it wasn’t often that a single parent also took on opposite personalities.

He looked up and smiled at Anakin, who preened. His Force signature swelled to the intensity of a small supernova. Obi-Wan tried not to wince. The constant headache had gotten old within the first month, but he knew it wouldn’t go away until Anakin had learned to control his emotions.

It didn’t seem like that was happening any time soon.

“Did you ever perfect the call?” Obi-Wan asked his padawan. If possible, Anakin lit up even brighter.

“I did! Ama showed me how.” He peered up at Obi-Wan from his meditation mat. Obi-Wan had meant for the afternoon to be reserved for practicing basic meditation techniques, but that plan had quickly dissolved in the face of Anakin’s excitement to share stories about his classes, which has transitioned into the current story about his mother, a krayt dragon call, and a handful of bounty hunters. “Do you want me to teach you how too?”

Obi-Wan did not look at the ceiling for patience, because Anakin was watching him and he didn’t want to hurt the boy’s feelings. No, he didn’t want to learn. But meditation obviously wasn’t something they were going to accomplish today, and at least he could turn this into a teaching opportunity for how master and padawan were meant to learn from one another.

“Yes, Anakin. I would like that very much.” Obi-Wan stood. He held out a hand to his padawan. “Why don’t we go down to the Room of a Thousand Fountains and see if we can scare some of the masters.”

Anakin nearly swooned from happiness and leapt up, taking Obi-Wan’s hand. They left together, but Obi-Wan told himself that he would have to speak with someone, and soon, about how Anakin seemed to present his mother in such a contradictory light so often. It didn’t sit well with him, and he wanted to ensure his padawan received all the support he needed in his transition to the Order.

One day, the stories of his mother would have to stop. But today, Obi-Wan simply let Anakin launch into the next one as they walked. Tomorrow, he would speak with a Mind Healer.

  

+1. Ani

Ani was three-years-old when he met Zhali. He didn’t remember much from their time with Gardulla, and Mom usually told him to be grateful for that. His first memory was of her and his mom, keeping him close and safe. His mom was like the wind over the sands and the warmth that radiated from pourstone after a long day in the suns, just as she always was. But Zhali, his Ama, was the silver light of the three sisters on a cool desert night. She was an unexpected wellspring of precious water. He loved them both, because they wrapped their hearts around his and held him close.

When he was four, Mom and Ama got married again, witnessed by the slaves of Mos Espa. A reunion of spouses was a blessing none would take for granted. Ani spent the night being held by one or the other as they danced through the slave quarters, their brothers and sisters spread out all around them. That night, Ama tucked him into his bed in their home and kissed his cheek, singing the songs of the desert that had been passed down from the first slaves. Ani loved the songs because they were hope.

He knew that someday, he would take that hope and make it real. He was the son of Shmi, Walker-of-the-Skies, and Zhali, who needed no family name to be known. He would save them, and all the others.

When he was six-years-old, Ani scared off three bounty hunters with the krayt call his Ama taught him. It left Mom shaking and oozing heavy terror that clung to everything, but he knew he was right. The hunters were after one of the slaves, and he had saved the slave. It wasn’t freedom for them all, but it was better than letting them drag Ylyn off somewhere.

Ama agreed. When Mom was at the shop, Ama taught him the proper krayt call, so that Ani could use it again in the future. He practiced for days, until Mom glared at them both and drew Ama away to their room for a _talk_.

As he got older, his mothers developed the ability to talk without words, and they would often have entire conversations right in front of Ani, to his frustration. Then they would finish, and Mom would tip Ama’s chin up and kiss her until Ani complained. Then Ama would turn and tickle Ani until he screamed with laughter. Ani grew up in a small pourstone home, insulated by his mothers' love and he grew knowing happiness, despite the chains that bound them all. 

  

At nine-years-old, Anakin Skywalker hugged his mothers goodbye. Ama wiped the tears from his eyes and Mom told him to be brave. He didn’t look back. Behind him, he could feel Mom’s gentle warmth and Ama’s cool, clear certainty. He could feel their love for him and one another, their pride in him. Their bone-deep certainty in his future.

He did not turn back. He did not see the way they collapsed inward, their only support one another, as they gave their only son to freedom.

Anakin Skywalker looked ahead and walked into his future.

**Author's Note:**

> If I've handled anything improperly, or if there was anything I forgot to tag, please feel free to drop a comment! I'm certainly not perfect, but I'm always looking to improve as a writer.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it <3 Comments and kudos are always appreciated but, of course, never required.
> 
> Read on


End file.
